Do the Bungei Boogie!

I had the privilege of attending the Wilfred Bungei, homecoming celebration yesterday. The event lasted all day long. Following a long motorcade procession into Kapsabet, there was a unveiling of 'Wilfred Bungei Street' and a tree was planted. I had hopped into the back of a pickup truck, with some buddies, and after a few hours of waiting the caravan headed to the Bungei home. People were pouring in from all over the countryside, on foot and wheeled transportation.

I was blown away by the crowd, that had already assembled. We quickly departed vehicle and made our way down the hill, to the main area. Wilfred's home lies about roughly 5mi outside of Kapsabet, in a very rural farming region.

(Here is just a small snap of the crowd assembled. I would estimate the size of the crowd between eight and ten thousand.)

Quickly we are whisked under some ropes and across the main open part of the field, towards a tent with some chairs set up. I asked my buddies, " Why do we get to sit here, do you know Wilfred personally?" They laughed and told me that it was because of me. Then I took stock and looked around. Yup, only white dude around. I guess they thought I was some sort of big hotshot. Anyone could make that mistake when seeing me in shorts and a dirty backpack stroll up to the velvet ropes.

There were tons of speeches, and Wilfred didn't make his appearance for over 2 hours. In Kenya, a microphone is a dangerous thing. Be prepared for a long haul once the speeches commence, because everyone gets a shot and they are making the best of it. If you once were the chairman of the local Goatherder's Union Local 789, then you get to rock the mike for up to 45 minutes.

Some workers soon came over to our VIP tent and brought us all Cokes, to quench our thirst. About 20 minutes later, a staffer approached me and told me "You must come with me." Of course my American mind began to race, "Well you had a good run, and they have found out you are a nobody." Nope. I guess some people had become worried, that I was not fed yet, and quickly escorted my friends and I to a gated compound. This compound happened to be Wilfred's personal house, and there was ample security outside, to keep the riff-raff out. There was a huge buffet and a bull had been slaughtered, for the party. After receiving our grub, I looked for a seat under one of the awnings. Again, a grave-faced staffer grabs my arm, and I am escorted inside the home. It sure looked like the home of an Olympic gold medalist, and there were hordes of high class folks inside. The staffer took us past a curtained partition and we were seated at the dining room, to enjoy our meals. Attendants frequently brought us sodas of our choice, and generally handled any requests.

I began to realize that, "Well hey, if that's the way it's going to be!" We excused ourselves from the home, after finishing the tasty meal, and returned to the main event festivities. I had been snapping photos the entire time, and figured that just like the press photographers, the roped boundary did not apply to me. Sure enough I was right. No one batted an eye when I walked to the center of the festivities and snapped away to my delight.

The highlight of the ceremony, was the introduction of every person in attendance, who had competed in any Olympics. The names read off, was like the reading the All-Time World Record Holders' list. Speaking of world record holders, I caught a ride back into town, from former WR holder, Moses Kiptanui. With about ten other guys, we piled in the back bed of his Land Cruiser 4x4 pickup truck. Moses seems to do everything in life fast. That includes driving down crowded dirt roads, simulating Rally-Car driving tactics. Honestly I think he was driving 80 mph, judging by the amount of dust and dirt lodged in my facial pores. All said, the event was amazing and can't believe I was able to experience the event.

(Wilfred getting served cake, by a lady. Bronze and silver medalists, Alfred Kirwa and Janeth Jepkosgei stand behind.)

(Wilfred waiting to be last called, among all present Olympians.)

Training:

Running has gone pretty well, as of late. Thursday I hopped in my first group fartlek workout. For the non-running crowd, a fartlek consists of alternating paces without stopping, for a set period of time. I was wary of joining this workout, because I knew this is a Kenyan bread and butter workout. The bigger the group, the more intense the workout usually goes. The plan for the fartlek, was 1min on followed by 1 min 'easy' for a total of 20 repetitions.

I figured that I should be able to handle said workout. I set my watch for a revolving timer to alert me of the minute mark. After some muscle shaking, the group of thirty or so guys headed out. Pretty much right off the bat, I felt out of sync and couldn't comprehend the timing of the pace changes. Sure enough, by about the fifth rep I was dropped. Only one guy was back running with me, and I couldn't tell if it was because I was the owner of a watch. By about rep #6 I looked down and realized that I had just won a Kenyan Darwin Award. I had forgotten to clear an old workout setting and it had the rest only set for 30 sec. So not only was I running with top level talent, I was also spotting them an extra 30 sec of rest. I informed Elliott of my blunder and he laughed, but didn't seem to really care. The crew was out of side by now, and I was thankful that he still with me. We just finished out the workout, with the short rest, and enjoyed our seven mile cool down jog back to town.

This post is dragging on, but I have done other things than run this week. I visited the inside of a tea factory and got some cool photos. I will fill you all in later in the next week. But since there is a good weekend connection, I will upload some photos.

Hope all is well in the States.
Neil

My neighbor apparently used to be my neighbor in S. Carolina!

Scrubbin' the red dirt off my shoes, on a Sunday afternoon.

Matatu driver fixing a flat in, no lie, under 5 minutes.


After the 10k race. This guy competed too, I think he is Ghandi's older brother.


Where's Waldo? Amid the confusion before the 10k race.

If you drink tea, in England or the USA, I have rubbed my bare hands all over it.

Disturbing find at the local grocer.

Party Time

Kapsabet has been buzzing the past week, with the return of Olympic 800m champion and freshly minted millionaire, Pamela Jelimo. A convoy of vehicles made their way from Eldoret to Kapsabet, parading the star in New Year's Day fashion. Once she arrived into town, mobs of people descended upon the local track stadium to greet the star. She now owns the honor of having 33% of the streets in Kapsabet named after her. Ok... that means just one street ( do the math), but still that's not bad.

After all the hu-bub in town, everyone made their way to her village. When I say village, I am being extremely generous. I have run past this location, which is marked by roughly 10 mud and stick constructed huts. Thousands of people descended upon her secondary school, to help celebrate. So many people in fact, that they had to park the numerous vehicles over 2 miles away from the party. The star was under a barricade of heavily armed soldiers the entire time. This was no doubt to protect the mob from crushing her, and to keep the marriage proposals at bay. The party was hopping and not even a two hour torrential rain storm could keep down people's spirits.

I have finally been able to increase my training volume, after adjusting to the altitude. Slowly, I have inserted some speed workouts into my program. Monday was the first time I had been on any track, USA or Kenya, and it really showed. I had a relatively easy 4xmile workout, but with a fast finish planned in the 4:30 range. The first three repeats posed no problems, but when I went to ratchet up the pace, it got interesting. The muddy track was giving me fits, even with my track spikes, making 70 second laps feel like WR pace. Try as I might, I could only muster out a 4:45 and I was gassed after that effort. The silver lining is that apparently the track is long by 5 meters, which is a small pat on the back. Still, attempting to run 5km race pace felt like two heavy hands were squeezing my lungs with all their might.

Most days I finish runs without gasping, which is quite the silver star considering things. I am not sure if I have inadvertently performed a powerful rain dance, but it still rains heavily almost every afternoon or evening. Hence, every AM run is muck filled and feel like I am wearing snowshoes by the end of each session. I have all but packed away my white socks and shirts, back into my traveling bags. I now only use black socks, and dark colored shirts for training, to make washing a less stressful endeavor.

I have been checking out the surrounding region a bit lately. A couple hundred feet higher than Kapsabet, lies Nandi Hills. This region is famous for the sprawling tea plantations covering the rolling hills. I was surprised to be out of breath just trudging up a few of these hills, and realized that an extra thousand feet really makes a big difference. The roads among the tea fields are in much better shape than Kapsabet, because it is vital for the plantations to truck out their product. I have snapped a bunch of photos and hopefully can upload them this weekend.

Q&A:

Q:Why are they so fast (diet, genetics, training, etc.)?

A: I would say a mix of genetics (years of altitude) and hard training. Sure a lack of western food is a help, but there doesn't seem to be a magic meal. If so I haven't had it yet! The training here is so extreme that the ones who do survive are nearly unbeatable.

Q: Lady runners?

A: There are women running here, but nowhere near the amount of men training in the area. I would say the ratio of men training to women is 95%-5%. Some women train with slower guys, and I imagine that is a big help.

Q: How do people get by money wise?

A: Good question. Many are supported by their families back home, in the villages, or other relatives. A small minority perform odd jobs during the middle of the day, to supplement their cash flow. It doesn't take much to survive here, roughly $1 usd a day is easily enough to get you along. Many runners pack into small primitive apartment style homes, just like migrant workers, all waiting for their big break. Some have been waiting for that break, for over 10-15 years. This alone has been one of the most astonishing things I have come across training in Kenya.

8 AM SHARP!

The race program read: Marathon 7 AM , 10km 8 AM SHARP! Now since I have been here, I have slowly gotten used to 'Kenyan Time'. Funny how just about every country outside of USA, Japan and Germany, seem to have their own 'time'. Now if you have ever travelled to races with me, you are aware that it would take a huge bout of will power to arrive just before the scheduled race time. I did my absolute best to trust everyone's suggestions.

So I decided to jog from the house with the brother of road racing stud Linus Maiyo, at 7:25AM. The start line was 4 miles away, so that wouldn't put us too far ahead of the race start time. I was cool as a cucumber until about 7:58 AM and we had not yet reached the start line. I guessed it was a good sign that we had seen quite a few runners along the road, during our warmup. Even though in the back of my head I knew I was not going to miss the race, I scooted ahead in search of the start line.

I arrived at a portion of road heading uphill, and track suited Kenyans were clogging both sides of the road. I asked a bystander if this was the starting line, and he more or less confirmed my suspicions. I have become perfectly used to having people gawk at me, where ever I travel or run. Today was an extreme case though, because I warmed up to the start in just my singlet and shorts. So I was getting quite a few stares, on top of the usual ones regarding my complexion (I would think it's understood I am the only white competitor or participant).

There are maybe 250-300 elite looking runners just hanging out on the shoulders of the country road. Not a single one of them is stretching or taking any form of warm-up jogging. 8 AM has already past without any notice. There is not a single official present, and nobody seems conflicted. The equatorial sun is starting to make an appearance, by this time. I find a group of runners, that I know and hang out with them. As the time passes, more and more elite looking runners begin to trickle into the start area.

Finally some officials show up before 9 AM. They are in a foul mood, because the marathon was delayed for an hour before it started. They immediately began to have people line up on the shoulder of the road, but failed to do anything with the line. This repeated a few times, and then the main loud official, told unregistered runners to assemble on the far side of the road. I had actually signed up two separate times during the previous week, so I felt safe I did not need to be on that side of the street. After about 25 minutes of late comers walking by with bib numbers, my buddy Isaac and I realized that we had better get some numbers.

We pushed and shoved through the mob, to the numbers guy, and were able to get signed in after a few minutes of yelling my name repeatedly. Meanwhile the start area is still receiving a flood of runners, from all over the area. Notable joggers, Martin Lel ('08 Olympic Marathon) and Asbel Kiprop ('08 Olympic 1500m), were in attendance. 9 AM has passed without any real notice, and I begin to let the stress fade, and revel in the hilarity of the situation. The officials are screaming at the stubborn crowd of athletes, with little luck.

I have now become more concerned with my emerging sunburn, and scout for a patch of shade beneath a truck tailgate. There are now roughly between 600-750 runners milling around the start area. Isaac has urged me to stay near the starting line, in fear of being stuck 100m behind the start. The big official begins a bellowing pre-race instruction speech. The main emphasis is centered around the immorality of cheating. "It is a dishonor to yourself, your sport, your family" roared the big man to the attentive crowd, " and most importantly it is a crime against your GOD!" I had to turn and step aside, to hide my laughter at the fire and brimstone speech.

We made our way to the starting line and secured a spot about three deep from the front. The race officials pushed back the eager mob, and there were actually two false starts. Finally a fourth time the crowd surged, without any starting command, and the race was off.

I thought I was prepared for how fast the race would start. I was dead wrong. Within maybe 400m, I was already pushed back to roughly 200th place, with the leaders already out of sight. My mind was scattered, and I was not jogging. I judged my pace to be roughly 4:45/mile, and I was getting left in the dust! As I figured after the first five minutes, many of the runners started to drift backwards. By the time I reached the 1.75mi killer hill, I was still much further back than I had expected.

I began to surge up the hill, but I was feeling the elements by now. The two hours spent standing in the sun, had taken their toll, as I felt my head tingle with onset heat exhaustion. I mopped my brow and focused on surging up the hill. I only picked off about 30 runners up the hill, and at the crest viewed a huge mob of runners well past the incline heading towards town. I was feeling pretty rotten by now, with the sun, lack of oxygen and general shock of my unfamiliar position.

All along the course I heard shouts, of 'Mazungu' or just general laughter aimed in my direction. My eyes lit up when I saw the water station, at the 8km mark, which was probably meant for the marathoners. I made a direct angle to grab a bottle and dumped the contents on my head saving a splash for drinking. Cooled down a bit I bore down for the last bit into town. All along the last 5km runners were using my passing as their own internal motivation. Every thirty seconds a previously passed runner would draw even for a few moments, but sadly drop back again. We took the last hill into town, and aimed for the track.

Once we popped onto the track I could feel the cheers picking up, or just the observational 'mazungu" cries. I took them as cheering regardless. We had 300m left to run on the track to the finish. I rolled up about 10 guys in the first 200m but the last two fellows saw me in the rear view mirror. They were able to hold me off in the final stretch, as I heard "from South Carolina, USA!"

I looked at my watch and a modest 31:14 was my finish time. I think the course was about 30 sec short, but under the circumstances I was happy with the outcome. Directly after the finish line there was a small black sheep bleating his head off. Apparently just before I pulled onto the track, the little guy had wandered onto the road, and since both sides of the track were lined with people he had nowhere else to go. From first hand accounts people said the lamb raced the last 300m like a pro! All the way through the finish he went and standing next to me in the water line, he was making his displeasure known.

After the race I got pictures with many other racers, and some really old ones. I would venture to say that I came in somewhere around 150th-200th place, out of I don't know, a lot I guess. This is the lowest position I think I have ever had in a race, and I was beaten by livestock to add insult to injury. I took a bunch of photos and hope to get them up later.

*Sorry for the late post, the internet has been running slow in the entire country. Seriously.

Photos Round Two

All right here are some more photos.

I think I will be too tired to post anything tomorrow. Hope you enjoy these shots, tried to mix it up this time.

I don't plan on hopping the wall, at my house.

This is where I bathe.

All the loot my in-laws sent me, yes I am loved.

Catching a morning track session, from the stands.

No Playstation3 for this guy.

Big storm that rattled us, heads off for damage up north.

Traditional building materials.

My local buddies at the woodworking shop. Of course they are posing inside a coffin.

Absolutely No Comment.

My daily stretching partners.

The Matatu Stand in Eldoret. Notice young child about to be run over.

French Toast on the outside charcoal cooker. That's my new American buddy, Jay.

A boy chicken.

Boiling Point

What does this title refer to? The always present simmering political tension in Kenya and Africa? My frustrations with 3rd world accommodations? Difficulties with the language barrier? A local Hatfield vs. McCoy feud brewing out in the country-side? The process I go through to prepare my daily bathing routine?

Wrong all wrong! Coffee. Plain and simple, coffee. Like many Americans, most of my days are started with a good ol' cup of Joe. Now I am not one those types who is a troll until my AM fix. But 30 days consecutive, a man can only bear so much. It's amazing, that in a country known for its' gourmet domestic coffee beans, that it is near impossible to find a restaurant serving anything other than instant coffee poured into hot water.

On a recent trip to Eldoret, I set out to find a solution. After asking about single cup coffee filters at three separate locations, I nearly gave up. Holding on to hope I figured with some interesting rigging, a regular filter and some grounds. Three days after I have gotten a pretty good cup of coffee. Sure it is strained through a torn piece of shirt, and is quite time intensive for one cup, but it gets me the finished product.

I am gearing up for the local 10k on Sunday. It seems that this field will have a 99% to 1% ratio of elite to recreation runners. This might be one of the most confusing races I have ever run. I have been warned that Kenyan road races, are plain battles of attrition. Racers start with reckless abandon, and many just fall to pieces, after trying to hang on to ridiculous early paces. This course should lead to some interesting tactics. The first 2km are aimed sharply downhill, and the next 3km are all uphill. I have noted the 5km mark of the course, and plan to make a mental note of restraining until that point. The rest of the course is rolling with a downward slope, and finishes inside the local track 'stadium'.

Logistics are also an issue because the race is point to point. I have decided that since I live about 6km from the start, that I will just wear my race kit and warmup to the start line. Since none of my friends have cars, and leaving your sweats under a bush is a laughable notion, I will just have to bear the elements. Thankfully my roommate can bring some sweats for after the race. I will see about getting some photos up on Sunday but I can't make any promises.

Hope all is well.

Public Service Announcement

I personally vow to never judge a man for entering a nail salon. Ok, maybe if he is getting a manicure, but not a pedicure. This trip has marked the most attention my feet have ever received on a daily washing basis. Why do I wash my feet with obsessive conviction? Let me tell you why. I see a lot of people walking around barefoot, everywhere that I travel. It's not that I am particularly sad that they are shoe-less, because most seem oblivious to their lack of footwear. What has harnessed my attention, is the various states of the feet I view. Feet that look squished, like in a cartoon. Feet as big as sledgehammers. Toes longer than an unused crayon. Feet with no visible toes. Feet that look like hands. To make things worse a very helpful friend (Brent Johnson) insisted on showing me a medical textbook of third world foot diseases, before I left on the trip. Thanks Brent! I think of those haunting pictures on a daily basis.

So what am I getting at? Please people in America, wash your feet with the vigor with which you wash your hair. If I see feet like that when we visit the beach together, I make no guarantees of any possible reaction on my part.

I know I touched on public transportation earlier on. The most common means of travel between any town further than walking distance is a matatu. A matatu is usually a Toyota diesel passenger van, built to seat maybe 15 people. In Nairobi the danger of matatus lies with the pedestrians outside the vehicle. In the country and rural areas, far greater danger rests inside the vehicle.

On typical route, most matatus are filled to the brim. Fifteen people? Ha! Try in the middle twenties of passengers. Most passengers are picked up in big towns, where all seats are taken and half of the others are doubled up. Picking your seat is a crucial step at a town stop. The fare collector, a tout, rides in the back with everyone else, and is in charge of finding new potential passengers or alerting the driver of a departing rider. There is rarely a case of a matatu that is too full to pick up one more person and their seventy or eighty bananas. Unless you ride in the front seats, being squished is a given. Most rides could be summed up as a claustrophobia sufferer's nightmare. Each ride is a stew of human BO, and every ride has its' own recipe, because everyone stinks a little different.

The driving is basically a version of any old Atari driving game. Just avoid potholes regardless of which side of the road your country encourages you to drive. If you are so inclined, just drop one side on the dirt shoulder, or if needed plow down the dirt sidewalk for a quarter mile or more. I consider myself to be pretty resilient and rarely get car sick or seasick. The only thing that keeps me within any boundaries, is the thought of how much more horrible the ride will be if I happen to have a reversal of fortune (like that competitive eating reference) inside a matatu.

Training has been going pretty well the past few days, despite the constant rain. I ran the monster hill route, from my first week, on Friday and also today. My first go around had a time of 71 min, which knocked me back. Friday I ran 67 min, and felt equally tired from that effort. I did not plan on running hard today and felt that I was going steady the whole way. I actually made a concerted effort to run the battery of hills easier this time, but rolled in at a surprising 64 minutes. I am actually starting to feel the strength come around. I have even been silly enough to enter a local 10k, on Sunday. I am going to venture a Top 10 finish may be out of reach, judging the local talent.

Thanks for all the comments and hopefully I can get some more pictures up. Unfortunately Sunday seems like the only where an Internet connection is photo upload worthy.
Hope all is well.

Dust Off the Projector

Here's an attempt to upload some re-sized photos, that I have taken so far. I have a bunch more but this will be a test round.

Front driveway to the house.

This is where chickens are kept. I saw a mongoose about 5 min later, which happens to be the most wild animal I have seen to date.

Ok, so maybe this dog doesn't represent the killer dogs roaming the hills.

One of the many groups hammering out intervals on the track.

Martin Lel and his giant group of pacers, whom he financially supports.

Tryin' to get artsy, after a thunderstorm in the field outside the house.

Our kitchen, the Viking range stove is getting delivered next week...I think.

Local bike shop, situated under a tree near my house.

This is just a test run and the images may be too small for viewing. Hopefully this will give an idea of the terrain, in the mean time I will try and get some more images up on the blog.

Hope all is well.

A Proper Gentleman

I have become accustomed to encountering new rituals and cultural traditions over the past month. I attempt to take all things in stride, and not show any hint of surprise. Yesterday though I was caught off guard. I had decided to run a 20min tempo run, in the middle of my morning run. Since my training partner was planning on doing a track workout later in the morning, he did not follow along with me. Nothing too exciting occurred on the hard tempo portion of the run. As I was walking for a minute, following the hard portion of the run, another Kenyan runner came upon me and encouraged me to start running. I agreed, and latched on with him as we made our way back towards home. We exchanged names, and began to make a steady clip back to base. We didn't really talk that much, because his English was as good as my Swahili. Decked out in a full track suit, as most guys here are on morning runs, Dixon was beginning to perspire. I was dressed in shorts and tee because I can't stand sweating like a pig. Next thing I look over and Dixon has removed from his pocket a pressed white handkerchief. He promptly dabs his brow dry and returns it neatly folded into his pocket, all without breaking stride. Not too sure why it took me by surprise, probably because I never expected to see anything of that sort while running. He repeated the process maybe five times, each time with equal formal bearing. I challenge any of you to find a more classy runner, anywhere!

Now that I have pretty much a daily routine, I have seen time move along at a brisk pace. One portion that hasn't moved to briskly happens to be on Sunday from 10am-1:30pm. I have been attending church with my training partner, up to this point. This church is spirited, almost a bit too much for my tastes. I think the real problem lies in my lack of a full grasp of the Swahili language. Singing before the service starts, lasts a full 90 minutes, and everyone but me knows the choreographed accompanied dance moves. The pastor at the church is amazing, I fully believe him to be a close blood relative to the late James Brown. During the 90 minute lead up, he plays a distorted bass guitar and has an attendant hold a microphone to face while wailing at the top of his lungs in Swahili. To be honest, I think I am just overwhelmed. Once the service starts, yelling is continued, but I am allowed to sit. Service is in about 97% Swahili and I usually miss the 3% English parts anyway. I just sit and find a book in the bible that I am unfamiliar with (there are a lot of them) and just have a private study session. I think I am going to have to surrender to the advertised, "All English 9:30am Service" at the Anglican church down the road.

I have barely noticed my slow adjustment to life here in Kenya. No longer do I dread having to head into the "shower" room, with my tub of boiled water. Going to the bathroom no longer causes pangs of anxiety to wash over me. I think my body has forgotten the muscle memory of a hot shower, and other private seated activities. That said, my mind has not given up hope, and I still regard such luxuries with great anticipation. I now laugh along with people in the market, when a child or a drunk introduces themselves to me. Sunday evening, while walking a friend to the taxi stand, a sharp dressed old man approached us. He began speaking what I thought was Kalenjin, and held out a hand for a shake. I shook it politely, but he was not finished, still firmly grasped he began to stroke my white forearm with great intrigue. That was the cue for me to forcefully remove the drunken gentleman from my path, to the laughs of all the vegetable stand ladies.

A few answers to questions people have asked:

Q: Are there any coaches here?
A: Yes there are a few. Their interaction is vague though. They may coach only a handful of athletes, the rest are just kind of shooting from the hip. People take ideas from successful athletes, and just try and copy it.

Q: What are people wearing for shoes?
A: I have not run with any barefoot people yet. Although the state of some people's shoes is quite sad. The main option for them here, is to buy 2nd hand shoes from the market. They sure can clean a shoe here, but if that pair is plain smashed out then guys are out of luck. Shoes are a big deal over here, and no one really runs in new shoes, unless you are a big time sponsored runner.

Q: Have I spoken with Martin or Sammy since the Olympics?
A: No, I have not spoken to either. Sammy actually lives and trains in Japan. Martin may be just taking it easy for now, but I imagine I will bump into him sometime in the future.

Thanks again for all the comments. Take care and watch out for all the storms in the Atlantic. I am praying that they will not make landfall or weaken before they hit.

HMMGRLLUH

That is the best phonetic spelling I can make of the noise I emit as 7 lean Kenyans blast by me on #13 (or any other) out of 20 hill repeats. I am beyond tired after workouts, and often later into the day that I often forget where I am when I wake up from naps. I blink at the unfamiliar ceiling, but the ship rights itself when I hear Michael Bolton blaring from the main room. Nowhere in America would I stand for such auditory crimes, then remember 'Oh yeah I'm in Africa'.

Days have pretty much settled in here. Morning training around dawn, then tea with buttered bread, wash then a nap, and most days I make the 2km walk into town. We get a steady dose of visitors, whom they are visiting I can't always instantly figure out. If they just speak Swahili or Kalenjin most of the time, then its obvious that they are visiting my roommates. If in the first 10 minutes the question , "Who do you support in your country's election?" is asked, well they obviously have come to visit me. As far as Kenyan citizens are concerned, if Obama wins then all Kenyans will be allowed to live in the USA, regardless of immigration red tape. To play the fence and astonish them I reply "You are aware that they are both pretty awful choices?". This usually garners a reply of, "Surely you must vote for our Obama." which is laughingly received. I think Obama has been to Kenya at most 2 times.

Training the past few days has been noteworthy. On Saturday I joined up with the same group of seven guys, for hill repeats. I breathed a sigh of relief when they said we would be using a different hill. I was fully prepared for another extended warmup, in the 45 minute range. What I was not prepared for was the fartlek, that was substituted for the warmup. On about five separate occasions, the pace dropped from maybe 6:45/mi to 5:20/mi, all without warning. I was wondering if I was just having a rough day, but when one of the elder international road racing studs, dropped back and informed me, "These guys are crazy." I calmed down a bit.

Once we arrived at the hill, 45 min later, it was stated that it stretched 200 meters and we would cover it in a time of 38-42 seconds. "Not too bad" I thought, well repeat number one set the tone. 34 seconds read my watch, ok that was fast. Maybe everyone else will realize that we are way fast and settle down. Number 2, 33.5, ok well that pretty much did it for me. Through shrewd calculations in my head, I figured holding 33.8-34.9, was my only ticket to finishing this workout alive. Well the good news is that I did not get dusted as bad as the previous hill workout. Whether that was due to the decreased length of the hill, I shall not bother with such details. I averaged between last and second to last on pretty much every repeat, even the ones that I started out leading. They were closing out in the sub 30 range, while I held on for dear life at 33's. I am not tooting my horn understand, but this is up a hill! The highlight of any hill workout with these guys is that the cool down finishing spot, is never more than a mile away. Which also amazes me in how lost I get on the twisty country roads.

This morning we met up with the huge group of runners for a planned 1hr 20min run. Little did I know at the start, but a few newcomers came to poach this run. Once we left the paved road at minute five, fun time was all over. The pace firmly was placed down around 5:15-5:20, which I judged easily by my breathing and the four women in the group falling back as if a sniper in the trees was picking them off one by one. I drifted off the back of the pack and started to worry about getting lost on a long-ish run out in the countryside. Thankfully one guy happened to drop back, and I was able to keep up with him. The amount of training that is done without structure here is absolutely astonishing. It is like a giant runners' pick up game here, no plan, just hammer time everyday. Maybe that is why there are about a thousand runners here, and only a handful ever experience true fruits from their training. At the 35min mark, five guys I know dropped back to a reasonable pace with me. This group of guys, actually adhere to a structured plan of sorts. They mentioned that some new guys showed up and scoffed at the easy run notion. I am lucky that a few guys here believe in recovery. We finished the run in 1hr 14 min, a full 9 min faster than the last time I completed that loop.

I have all but shaken my chest cold, and my training is showing more promise daily. I am starting to feel the benefits, and I can not wait to race back home. Hope everyone is well and thanks for the comments.